


Black Widow: An Origin Story

by Anonymous



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Heartbreak, Mary Sue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The story behind the Lone Wanderer's first heartbreak.





	Black Widow: An Origin Story

December sat on a rusting lawnmower and took off her sunhat, wiping the sweat from her eyes. From what she recalled from school, this whole square in front of the house should have been green. The grass was yellow, brittle. Dogmeat sat in her shadow and tried some of the grass, barfed it up. She reached into her pack and pulled out some Radroach meat. Fortunately, Moira's inventions had proved more useful than her advice: the meat was somewhat purified, but as she bit in, the acrid dirt taste told her it still wasn't safe to eat too much. She took a few bites and washed it down with a gulp of purified water, then tossed the rest of the bug meat to the dog. Dogmeat wolfed it down and barked appreciatively. Good dog.

"Daddy, where are you?" she wondered aloud.

She remembered the hero of her childhood, who helped her every step of the way, knew when to guide and when to hold back, gave her her first gun, sat down with her and taught her how to read... She didn't know this man, who left her to fend for herself, forced her into the open air. That man must've hated her, to lead her into this awful place. She hated the hugeness of the world, the vast stretches where there was too much nothing. The emptiness made her want to scream and cower at once: the skeletons and shadows of civilization made it all the worse.  
Megaton was becoming home, in a way. She had a house there. Friends. True, the Church of Atom despised her after what she did, but everyone else treated her like family. Like she was good.

She never meant to fall in love, the day she walked into Moriarty's. Jonas, as far as she was concerned, was the love of her life, a memory to be left sacred.   
The day before she'd done something stupid, her first day stumbling in the light... wandered into an elementary school, thinking it would be safe, only to see that inside were savages. They had butchered people and hung them up by chains, smeared the walls with blood. Of course, by then she was well away from the door, and she barricaded herself in a closet as they ran about searching for her, jeering that she was next. Threatening her with things she'd never imagined people could do to each other. Maybe she would end up a ravaged body hanging from a chain.  
Obviously, she'd fought her way out, because things can't end that way. She had been so grateful to find Megaton, and to sell what she'd picked up in the Wasteland in exchange for clothes with slightly less gore on them.

Even so, she'd looked a mess. Burke was the finest dressed man she had ever seen. He was handsome and he seemed a gem of cultured brilliance. But he spoke to her, out of everyone else there, and asked her to sit down. He'd ordered drinks. That first sip of vodka felt like an initiation into the larger world in a way that the battle against the savages had not. He was very reserved, only listened as she talked about her life. His curiosity appealed to her more than his casual charm. Little by little, it all came tumbling out. There was more to her than just her father, the vault, her ignorance. She drew him out of his shell, made him laugh with her naive quips. He couldn't stop watching her, the toss of her hair as she threw her head back, the smile that went all the way up to her light eyes.

They spent hours sitting there in that secluded corner when he asked her, unexpectedly, to dance. She was wearing her plain vault jumpsuit, her hair was dark with dirt, her skin was burned by the sun. He was a crisply dressed man who was used to being pampered by his wealth. He didn't seem to care.

It was an odd match, and Moriarty fairly howled with laughter. "I think it's sweet," Nova said to him, but her voice carried a mocking edge to it, too.

Gob sighed at the romance and switched on the radio. GNR was playing a crooning "Crazy in Love" because there's no dancing without music. It wasn't exactly dancing. His hands were on her hip and back, and they moved a little, but mostly he tried to look into her eyes like he was trying to read her.

And then he dipped her and he supported her weight, and with a smirk he bent his head and kissed her.

Lying undressed beside him later in his home, she asked him if he did this often.

"Hardly." He took both her hands and kissed them. "And you had not done this before. How charming, my dear."

"I hope that I was to your liking," she said a bit huffily.

He laughed. "How is it that there is an innocent girl in this damned and desolate world?"

"Vault all my life, remember?"

And then they didn't talk for some time. In the morning, he revealed why he originally asked her to sit with him-- the destruction of Megaton. He picked her because she didn't look like she would know any better. His boss would pay a good deal of caps to wipe Megaton off the map with a blast that could be seen from space.

It was like biting into something rotten. She'd begged him not to. God knows why she was so upset, she barely knew the place, but it was definitely wrong to kill people.

He conceded, confessed he loved her and wanted to take her away... but not yet.  
Every week, or thereabouts, Moriarty gave her a letter from Burke. They were beautiful letters about their future together, when he would be free to send for her. But the moment he'd revealed his monstrous side, the best, most innocent part of her love for him had died. Burke could protect her and give her a home, probably a family of her own if she asked for it. But he wasn't his own man.

So, Megaton was home. She had to resume the search for her father soon, but she resented the way he pulled her from routine. She had enough caps to settle into her life in Megaton permanently. She could marry Burke, or not.

Why didn't she?

Because part of you likes to wander. You like the uncertainty. The danger.   
Well, she obviously wasn't out here for the food.

She shot a Bloatfly in the distance. "Dogmeat, go fetch," she ordered.

"My dear, you look sublime!" Burke said. December smiled.   
"You haven't seen anything yet," she said, stepping into her bedroom and closing the door. "But I'm surprised you like the hair."

Wadsworth had been kind enough to style and color her hair; it was hot pink and in soft, full curls down her back. "I adore it, sweet."

It had been so surprising to step into Moriarty's for a letter and find instead her darling, in the flesh. He was overjoyed and insisted that he whisk her away-- so now they were at her home, newly decorated with little lights and a big heart-shaped bed.

She opened the door wearing a little nightdress. A quick bath (Wadsworth misting her with water) had taken off most of the sweat and dirt, and she anxiously waited for his approval.

"Have I told you," he finally said, taking off his hat and throwing it aside, "how much I earnestly respect you?"

December giggled and jumped at him, kissing him sweetly. He took her downstairs to that wonderful heart-shaped bed and carefully set her down. They only kissed, slow and careful, as if to memorize the sensation of it. They could not stop looking at each other.

"I love your letters," she managed between kisses.

"My letters? Not my power, my vocabulary, or my fine suit?"

"I like all of that," she admitted. "But your letters... can you possibly love me so much? We've spoken so little. This is a mad affair... but is it real?"

He took this seriously. "I've met you twice. You write enchantingly. I wait, restless, angry, unfulfilled, until the arrival of your next letter. Darling, I loved you when we first spoke and you were so young then!"

"A naive little girl of eighteen, just out of the vault," she said. "Am I cynical now?"

"You have the look of a woman who has seen horrors but still believes in goodness. It is not common. In some ways you are still an innocent."

She pulled at his jacket, kissed him. "Tell me why I should love you."

"You shouldn't. It would be better for you..."

"Please, Burke. You aren't a monster."

"If you knew, my dear, you'd never wish to be joined with me. But I shan't spoil your fantasy."

"That isn't my only fantasy, mister."

She turned off the lights, and only when the soft illumination of the ancient Christmas decorations flickered to life to bathe them in a softer light did she let him undress her. And they didn't speak at all. And if she wondered at his greedy kisses, the fierce way they came together, she thought it was just the time apart intensifying his ardor.

She woke up naked and alone. All that was left was another letter, apologetic and anguished-- he had to leave but he loved her more than words could express; he would send for her as soon as he was able; he would miss her and long for her kisses--...

She was hurt, but maybe this was love, out here. One of them could die at any moment, and he was so secretive that she doubted she would ever know him. Even his name was a mystery. He avoided all questions, and when they talked seriously it felt like he was gathering information on her. Like he was studying her as much as loving her. And, after all, she was so very young.

  
The Raiders died in a blaze of gunfire and a series of loud pops, and the blood of their not-so-tragic demise gushed at her, pooled at her feet. December recoiled and jumped back several paces, but her feet were already soaked through. Impatiently, she hopped onto a desk and tugged off her boots. Her legs were splashed with gore up to mid-calf, and the socks were ruined.

"Damn it," she yelled.

She could have wrung the blood out of her socks if she felt like it. As it were, she'd be sloshing her dainty toes about in Raider juice, which put her at risk for who knows what kind of fungi and infections. Yuck.

Not that going barefoot in those boots was any more practical. She'd be limping before she got to Rivet City, and she'd be damned if she was going to go all the way back to Megaton for some socks.

A female Raider (hard to think of her as a "woman"--even in death her face was savage and curdled) had somehow been blown into several pieces. Her torso was severed and leaking blood, and the lower half... was, well, dry, on the other side of the room. (Damn, those grenades were effective. December made a mental note to thank Moira.) The, uh, girl had been wearing torn black tights.

Oh, God, was she really considering this?

Yes. Yes, she was.

Inspecting her covered legs in the little red lake on the linoleum, December had to admit it wasn't a bad look. After all, waste not, want not. Also looted from the bodies: a mesh glove, seven silver rings, ammo, caps, and a bag of potato crisps.

Yum.

It was impossible to feel clean, even when the blood was scrubbed off in the facility's bathroom. The mirror still showed dust and scratches and a filth that couldn't be washed away.

But everyone acted like she was so good! Like she was some hero. And why? Because she didn't gun down innocents? Because she shared water? Because she wanted to help people if she possibly could? That didn't make her good, it just made her not-evil.   
"I'm no hero," she said to her mirror self. The mirror self frowned at her. "I'm just a killer with a conscience."

And she even liked it. It was hard to swallow, but there it was. She didn't have to cower and sob anymore, because in battle, she was a badass little bitch, all curves and no mercy. She wasn't the saint people treated her like because she liked sex -- though she hadn't yet been unfaithful to Burke, Leo was awfully tempting, especially when she'd tossed back a few drinks -- and cigarettes and gore.

She wondered if Dad would even want to meet this new daughter, this ragged, jaded wanderer. She wondered if her heart was really into finding him anymore, and if they ever met again...

The hero of her childhood had vanished into mystery.

The wide-eyed little girl afraid of her shadow was dead.

Moriarty handed her the letter. She scanned it for Burke's signature, threw her arms around the man gratefully. He laughed and grabbed her ass.   
"Any more gratitude where that came from?" he leered.   
She whispered into his ear,   
"In your dreams, as always" and pushed firmly away from him to sit at the bar to read and re-read the letter.   
He still couldn't send for her, but he said he thought about her every day and especially every night. It seemed like soon was never going to come. For all his words, the distance was so vast. She loved him so much. She was only a girl, just barely a woman. Eighteen and still not used to the world. How could his letters comfort her when all she wanted was his arms around her?

"Can I get you anything, doll?" Gob asked her. She looked up from the letter, tears blurring her vision to the point where Gob looked normal.

"Beer, please, Gob." He slid her a mug with a concerned pat on the hand. She drank and drank until he said "enough, drunkie" and Nova had to help her upstairs to bed. She protested, "I don't want to--"

"No charge, hon," Nova cooed. "I'll keep an eye on you in case one of the boys tries anything."

December woke up in the middle of the night, Nova passed out next to her, an inhaler of Jet beside her head. Everyone knew Moriarty had some hold on Nova, but drugs...

She shuddered and tried to be quiet as she walked out.

Megaton was empty at this hour. It was around two. She sat on the rails and thought about how the fall, at this height, would certainly kill her. Amazing how that sobered her. She slid from the rail and walked along toward the water processing plant.

Leo was sitting at his desk inside. He'd been clean for a few weeks, and claimed it was because of her. Whatever. She peeled off her sweater, dropping it by the door, and skipped inside, sitting on the desk. "Hey, Leo. How's it hanging?"

"Pretty good," he said with a smile. "I heard from the radio about what you did for those slaves. You're a hero, huh."

"I saved you, didn't I?" She couldn't stop smiling. He looked good, healthy. And the look he gave her was serious.

"Yeah. Did I thank you for that?"

"A girl can never have too much appreciation."

Tik. tik. tiktiktiktik! The Pip-Boy went wild as the radiation in the area shot up, and December screamed "SHIT SHIT SHIT OH FUCKING FUCK" and backed up as fast as she could in her new heels. The air in this cellar was choking her, and it may have been dark but she found the door out into the sunlight.

The Pip Boy showed her rads had gone from 20 to 600. All her RadAway was at the Megaton house... "Fuck," she mumbled. Her head throbbed and her intestines all seemed to curl in. Hell, she probably glowed. She vomitted up her lunch; cheesy noodles and bile and a lot of blood.

The worst of it, for the young girl who prided herself on being clean-cut and pretty, was when she got back to Megaton and her hair started to fall out. She ran into a bathroom and screamed no no no as her long dark hair fell out... had been falling out in little patches as she walked back, but now clumps of it came off in her hand, and she was left mostly bald and sobbing.  
Wadsworth styled it so it looked intentional; a neon blue mohawk with two twists of hair hanging down over her ears. She blushed and wore a hat around town for a few days, but Leo caught her unaware and took it off.

"I'm bald," she said.

"Still a pretty girl," he said. She smiled ruefully.

"Burke wants to come see me. How can I let him knowing how I look?"

She was turned away. She didn't see the look of pain cross Leo Stahl's face. "If he loves you, he'll want you with hair or without."

"He places a lot of weight on class. Raiders have hair like this." She twisted a strand of long hair around her finger delicately, as if that, too, would fall out.

"I wouldn't worry is all," he said, and offered her a Nuka Cola.

She smiled and popped off the cap, taking a gulp. Fruity and sweet. She added whiskey and they passed it back and forth until the bottle was gone and the two were smiling. The next day found her sobbing, Burke's final letter, the one that "set her free," crumpled in her hand. She locked herself in her empty house, clutched the filthy teddy bears around her, and there were screams, hyperventilating breaths, dead silence, and crying noises as pathetic as an infant's.

In the night, she dressed, armed herself, and left town with Dogmeat. She said goodbye to no one.

She strolled back into town six months later, a puppy nipping at her heels. The proper dress and heels were gone; she was sexuality in Raider armor, leather straps across her back and metal barely covering everything else. Her hair had grown out long and dark and beautiful, in dozens of little braids, and there were surgery scars: on her face, her abdomen, her back. She was pale but flushed, assisted by the make-up she collected: lipstick in a bruised cherry red, eyes darkened and shaded, nose powdered.

And the smell of gunsmoke followed her wherever she walked.

"What've you been up to?" Jenny asked as December twirled noodles around a spork.

She considered the Stahl's little sister. Bags under her eyes, much older looking than her years. Jericho had seduced her, been just the right amount of rough, left right after, and because she was a lady, she never told her brothers, but she had told December. Andy would kill him if he knew.

"Killing bad guys," she replied with a slurp of broth.

Her innocence was gone, but the badass little bitch from Vault 101 still defended the innocents. Saved slaves from Super Mutants, fixed satellites for handsome radio announcers... and he'd showed her how to sing, hadn't he, after they'd locked lips and found their way to the kitchen table. It was more supportive than it looked. And, for all his saying he couldn't handle a weapon as well as a mic, the man was good with his hands.

She'd killed and looted and fucked, and was it because of Burke and his damn letters, with the promises made that he never meant to keep? She didn't know any of it. By all logical accounts, she shouldn't be alive. But out in the Wastes, you learn to survive.

She could tiptoe over a mine and it wouldn't blow up. She'd learned how to scratch a Yao Guai under its chin so it purred like a kitten, and animals loved her. Mole Rats followed her about, bit chunks out of Raiders who got too close. And men were putty in her hands.

Hell if she knew why. The plastic surgery had evened her out and plumped up her lips, taken in her nose some, but she wasn't any more attractive than any girl out and about. It was something in the way she'd learned to croon to them, the bat of an eyelash, the suggestion of a pouting mouth. She promised things, things they both knew would never happen, but they leaped to help her, fell over themselves.

The men she did end up in bed with were stronger than that. Just as strong as she now was.


End file.
